Nightfall
Was it at the close of wakeful light
Rough cutting field and town,
The dark blade-cleaving deep,
Eyebrow sharp and scything down,
The landscape hacked to sleep.
And if it were my dreamless sight
Of haloed streetlamp flicker,
Murdered shadows spring
To lope and slither quicker
As the chimes of midnight ring.
What if the eyes cannot adjust
And discern the rise of day,
Screening past the chilly tomb
That so engulfs and hides away
In a heart of darkest gloom.
What if I no longer trust
Evaporate of hearthside yore,
And apparitions die as must,
Would I freeze forever more
Beneath the sheet of nightfall's dust.
|